


Empire

by lukeloops



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Character Development, Cunnilingus, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, France is the bad guy I'm sorry, Gender and sexuality themes if you squint, Romancey stuff a lil bit, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-16
Updated: 2016-02-16
Packaged: 2018-05-21 03:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6035605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lukeloops/pseuds/lukeloops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dresses, well-kempt hair with flowers in it, good manners. If that’s what Austria wants of her, then so be it.<br/>Hungary knows what men do to women in war; she’s heard a rumour that they do it in love as well, but that just seems absurd.</p><p>(Or,the story of the sex that everyone knew was going to happen eventually.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empire

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Hetalia work, I began it just because it's fun to think of all the different ways Austria and Hungary came to have the relationship they do and then suddenly oops 6k words. If people like this, I might write more extended one-shots about their relationship because it's a really interesting one.

“You will live in my house now.” His voice is cold as he looks down at her, but there’s a little smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Lying on her back in the muddy grass, with Austria’s polished boot planted squarely over her ribs, Hungary unclenches her fists and tries to recover her breath as she looks up at her childhood friend-turned enemy- turned new master. She could still win this battle, but not without destroying Austria completely; and since he’s the only one to ever show her mercy, she will take whatever he wants to do with her over the alternative. Besides, her soldiers are outnumbered.

Austria, despite his power, is not good at defending himself. Before she’d stopped putting up a fight she’d scratched his face with her nails and almost strangled him with his overly-ruffled cravat. Hungary is vaguely aware of his heel crushing her chest before he yells something in German and two of his soldiers are pulling her up and tying her wrists together. She bares her teeth and hisses at them. Sure, she’s going to go along with Austria, but that doesn’t mean she has to come quietly.

Hungary’s hands remain secured behind her back for the duration of the journey to Austria’s house- during which time she gets in a few well-timed kicks to the back of her guards’ knees, leaving dirty footprints on their foppish uniforms. Once inside, they drag her up a wooden staircase and into a sparsely-furnished bedroom, whereupon she spits in the face of the soldier untying her wrists and they retreat as soon as they can, locking the door behind them.

  
Alone now, Hungary takes stock of her situation. Her new home- her new prison- consists of a surprisingly comfortable bed, a desk with a slightly wobbly chair, a wooden trunk which houses some rather moth-eaten clothes, and a claw-footed bathtub in front of a dusty fireplace. The window is locked as well as the door. Presumably, she is to wait here until Austria comes to deliver his wrath.  
Not that he’s even capable of anger, Hungary muses as she examines herself. Coldness, yes. Bitterness, yes. But in all their years of fighting, he never seemed to become more than peeved at her continual victories.

She sighs. What a strange man her new captor is. Her clothes are ripped and stained with dirt and grass, so she rummages in the trunk, finding only servants’ uniforms, so she changes into a pinafore that must have once belonged to a maid. The knots in her hair and the muck under her fingernails will have to stay put, but it’s not like it matters to her.

There’s a scraping noise as the door is unlocked. Hungary turns, automatically bringing her hands up ready to punch.

“You can lower your fists, it is only me.” Austria steps into the room and closes the door behind him. Hungary obeys.  
He has changed out of his military uniform into an even more regal-looking outfit, complete with white gloves, and his hair is combed neatly into place once more. He is looking down his nose a bit as he says, “Womens’ clothing is much more becoming of you.”

“I’m glad you like it,” she smiles sarcastically, but her smile falters as he takes a step closer to her, towering over her.  
Hungary knows what men do to women in war; she’s heard a rumour that they do it in love as well, but that just seems absurd. He is a man. She, so she has been told by the mirror and the horrified faces of other nations, is a woman. And this man has dragged her back to his house and locked her up in this bedroom. She takes a deep, slightly shaky breath.  
“What of my people?”

“They are safe from any harm for as long as they recognize the authority of the House of Hapsburg.” He informs her cooly, as though disinterested.

“And what about me?”

He’s even closer now, there are only inches between them. “Simple. You are mine. If you do not resist, I will unlock the door and set you to work.”

“And if I do resist?” she whispers. Almost _daring_ him.

“You won’t.” Austria smiles disconcertingly, and then his hand is reaching to her hair, gloved fingers examining the clay-coloured strands.  
Hungary holds her breath, studying his face. She expected him to hit her, but now it seems more like he’s going to kiss her. Why is that making her less afraid? Why-

“Find a comb and sort out this birds’ nest. You must look like a respectable young woman when you appear before me.” And with that, Austria drops her hair and steps back from her, exiting the room in his characteristically proud stride.

Hungary drops onto the bed, head in her hands. She wanted him to kiss her. Wants. Even though he seized her in the midst of battle and commanded her to become a docile housemaid.  
Talk about Stockholm syndrome.

 

\---

 

Hungary learns quickly that Austria is fond of neatness and order, but astonishingly inept at either. Her attempt at making morning tea leads to the discovery that the kitchen cupboards are in complete disarray, so she starts to reorganize the precarious piles of crockery and locate the full set of fancy napkins and silverware, completely forgetting about the tea until the clanging and scraping brings Austria into the room.  
He clears his throat as he enters. Hungary turns round and hurriedly attempts to perform a respectful bow, while clutching a large saucepan.

“There is no need for that. And besides, women curtsey.” Austria spots the tea tray and pours himself a cup, frowning over his glasses at her. “What are you doing?”

“Tidying.” She shrugs. “If everything has its own place then it’ll be easier to find.”

“Hmph.” Austria concedes, as though the idea had never occurred to him before. “Continue then. But keep the noise down, in the name of all that is holy! And this is good tea.”

Hungary shakes her head as she watches him retreat. Weird, weird, country.

 

After finishing the kitchen, she moves on to the library, which is in similar disarray. She’s never really had the patience to sit and read, but the books here cover a wide range of topics, and it probably wouldn’t do her any harm to learn some more history.  
Mopping all of the floors requires several buckets of water. It occurs to her that Austria might not be strong enough to fetch multiple buckets and carry them back to the house.

Or maybe he’s just lazy.

Indeed, he seems to spend most of his waking hours either reading or playing the piano. And _God_ , what a beautiful sound he produces. Hungary has never even heard a piano before- they haven’t been invented by humans at this point- and is utterly entranced. After stopping at the door to listen, she goes about her business humming fragments of tune to herself for the rest of the day. And that night, she dreams about Austria.

 

They’re children again, playfighting in a sunny meadow. At least, she’s only teasing, but Austria starts to sob loudly and messily when she punches him squarely in the nose, and she laughs at his weakness.  
“You need to learn to defend yourself!” Hungary yells over her shoulder as she runs away, leaving him in a pathetic heap in the grass. One of her bare feet catches on a stone and she goes flying forward, landing on the ground. Hands wrap around her from behind, turning her over to-  
Huh? That’s not how it went. Hungary opens her eyes, and it’s dark, but there’s no mistaking exactly whom is looming over her, holding her by the waist.

“Austria?”

“ _Shh_.” All his weight seems to be resting on her. “ _I’m going to make you truly mine.” Then his lips are on hers._

“ _Yes,”_ she breathes into the kiss, “Claim me as your territory.” She’s naked, she always goes to bed naked unless it’s winter, and her body is ready for his touch. Austria’s hands and lips are exploring her, mapping out her skin, his hips lining up with hers to push deep, deep inside…

“Hungary!’  
Groaning, she opens her eyes, meeting the stern gaze of Austria, who is shaking her shoulder. “I was still dreaming.” She realizes, feeling crushed.

“It is well past dawn. Get up.” He sniffs, and then jerks his hand away as he comprehends the bare skin of her shoulder beneath it.  
“Argh!”  
Probably the most undignified sound he could muster.

Hungary snorts with laughter. “What, are you afraid of naked women?” she taunts.

He’s backing away. “Get dressed. There is work to be done.”

Alone, Hungary stares at the back of the door, still trying to shake the dream out of her head.

 

\---

 “Can you sew?” Austria asks as he sweeps self-importantly into the room.

Hungary looks up from the vase of flowers she’s arranging. “Yes.” And then, “ _Ow!_ ” as the knife she’s using to trim the stems nicks the side of her finger.

“Good.” Austria takes the hand she’s now examining and tips a few unfamiliar coins into her palm. “Go and buy some fabric and make yourself a proper dress. France and Spain shall be here next week to discuss the future of Italy and I won’t have you embarrassing me by wearing that.” He looks pointedly at her maid’s dress.

Hungary frowns at the handful of coins. “But am I not your servant? Why should I pretend to look like a lady?”

Austria seems to falter, perhaps trying to come up with an answer and then changing his mind. He turns and exits with a “hmph” noise.

Why does he always do that? Can he not stand to be in the same room as her for any longer than absolutely necessary? Whatever. Hungary flips over the coins, not knowing their value but knowing that her new master is always conflicted between luxury and saving money. Either way, this means she gets her first little bit of freedom.

 

The town turns out to be picturesque, and whilst her German still isn’t very good, Hungary manages to get directions and go exploring. It does briefly cross her mind to make a run for it, of course it does. But where would she go? She’s never really had a home of her own, the nomadic blood in her veins still strong and the country’s palace being constantly burned down by whichever Ottomans or Teutonics fancy trying their luck on that particular day.

So instead, Hungary returns to Austria’s house with an armful of earthy green cloth, and half a dozen tulip bulbs from the change. She’s not sure how Mr Austria will feel about having Hungary’s national flower growing in his garden, but neither does she care.

 

When Austria returns from his conference, Hungary is using the mirror in his room to check that the sleeves and hem of her new dress are vaguely level. She doesn’t hear him come in until she glances at her frowning face and sees his looking at her.

“What?”

Austria takes a few steps forward so he’s standing right behind her, and removes his glove to brush one fingertip across the back of her shoulders, as though testing for something.  
Hungary feels hot under his faint touch.

“You are beautiful,” he whispers very, very softly.

She keeps staring into the mirror, not moving, not speaking. What would she say anyway? What would she do with her hands- shove him away, or grab his shoulders and bring his mouth to hers?

Austria picks up his ivory-handled hairbrush from the dresser and begins to work through her tangled hair. “You start at the bottom,” he explains, in his usual voice once again, “that way you don’t make more knots as you go.”

“Oh.” Hungary meant to cut her hair some time ago, but it grows back so fast and she’s been too busy at war. Somehow, she’s glad. Her eyes close when Austria reaches her scalp and runs the brush softly down to the end of her curls. The last time somebody brushed her hair, she was pinned down and yelping in pain. He is gentle. So very gentle.

“There we are.” Apparently finished, Austria steps back to admire his work. “See? You do not always have to look like a savage. Your enemies would fear you more if they saw you for who you are-“

“A woman?” Hungary speaks for the first time in a while, feeling anger flare inside her.

“Not just a woman.” His voice is soft in contrast. “A _fierce_ woman.”

Hungary looks down at her body, with its newly-filled out curves that make traditional armour hard to wear. Then she looks back up, and Austria stares back from the reflection, an indescribable expression on his face. Like when someone is mourning the dead, but he is not crying.

Slowly, Hungary turns round to face him, biting her lip. Once again, she doesn’t know whether she wants to hit him or embrace him.  
So she announces, “I’m going to plant some tulips.” And leaves.

 

\---

 The meeting is conducted in Latin, which is common to most of the countries in this part of the world, so Hungary can understand, but she’s not exactly listening. Something about custody of parts of Italy. Whilst Austria and Spain seem to come to an agreement, France does not. Holy Rome himself is at the head of the table, attempting to maintain the peace, but due to his size he can’t really make himself heard over France’s ranting.

Bored and frustrated, Hungary sighs loudly. Suddenly, all eyes are on her.  
“What?” she demands defensively. “You’re all talk, if you want something you should go and fight for it.”

“Oh, really now?” France snickers. “And what would you do then?”

“Um… not steal a helpless young nation away from their home and force them to live under your rule?”

She’s in for it, she knows it.

The moment they are left alone in the house, Austria rounds on her. “What on earth were you thinking?”

Hungary stands her ground, hands balling into fists. “That taking over other countries isn’t fair and you all know it!”

“Wrong.” He folds his arms. “You were thinking about yourself, and that you resent me for bringing you here.”

“No, I-“ Hungary frowns, feeling as though she’s lost her footing. “I don’t resent you.”

“Then why do you insist on making my life difficult?” he demands.

Hungary blinks. That’s the first time she’s ever heard him shout.

Then suddenly their lips are crashing together.  
She doesn’t know whether he started it or her, but it’s fierce. And over far too quickly.

“Clean up in here.” Austria tells her, as though he wasn’t kissing her almost desperately just seconds ago. But his cheeks are bright red, and he’s avoiding her gaze as he hurries out of the room.

Hungary exhales slowly and deeply. The ground feels a little unsteady beneath her boots. Her instincts tell her to do the same, pretend nothing happened. But the kiss lingers in her mind as she works, on her lips even, like he’s marked her in some way. And that night she dreams of him again.

 

“ _Hungary_ ,” his voice whispers, “ _Hungary, come to me_.”

Silently, she slips out of bed and tiptoes down the corridor to Austria’s room. He’s waiting for her, stretched out naked on top of the covers, eyes roaming her own exposed form.

“Come closer,” he murmurs.

She stays where she is. “Why?” she asks.

He raises one eyebrow. “Because you want to, of course.”

And she does. Her body seems to glide across and over his in one fluid movement, and his hands are waiting for her, those long slender fingers-

Hungary wakes up feeling hot and bothered, with a funny feeling between her thighs.       

 

\---

 She’s in the garden next time she sees him. Austria has conveniently been away on business for several days and Hungary wonders if he’s going to continue avoiding her after his return, but a gentle clearing-of-the-throat noise behind her makes her look round.

“Hello.” Austria attempts to squat down beside her without getting himself dirty. “What are you doing?”

“I’m weeding.” She waves the trowel she’s holding. “You obviously take pride in your flowerbeds but not enough to actually look after them.”

“I forget.” He says absently, watching her resume her work. After a minute, he announces, “I have secured control of Northern Italy. My soldiers are out looking for it, since it is too small to survive on its own, and anyway I do not want to have to travel in order to manage it. I get sick.”

Hungary keeps her eyes and hands focused on the dirt in front of her, allowing her mind to go where it wants. Some more company would be nice in this big house, she thinks, but Austria doesn’t need another reason to be too busy for her. The thought of another country occupying his attentions makes her pull too hard at the stubborn weed and uproot the peach-coloured carnation next to it as well.  
“Damnit!”

“Here.” Austria takes the flower from her, shaking off the soil and plucking away the roots and leaves. “You know, I brought you here by force because I was told to, but if I’d had it my way, I’m sure we could have come to an arrangement.”

His nimble fingers fix the carnation into her hair behind her ear. Hungary feels herself blush, and inwardly chides herself.  
Aloud, she says, “I suppose we could. I decided not to fight you to the death after all.”

Austria’s face is close to hers once again, and Hungary has to swallow down memories of the dreams that have been plaguing her. The situation isn’t helped by the way his gaze goes from the flower to her lips.  
Hungary mentally crosses her fingers. “What sort of… arrangement… would benefit us both?”

There, she’s set his mind whirring over the possibilities, she can tell by the sudden tinge of scarlet to his cheeks. They really are nice, soft-looking, and his eyes too…

“Are we… still talking politics?” He asks a little nervously.

“I don’t know,” Hungary admits, and then, feeling bolder, “and I don’t care, so stop talking.”  
And she presses her lips against his.

To her relief he kisses back, and cups her face with both hands, but the softness isn’t soothing at all. It just makes her start to feel hot and bothered again, and a needy moan escapes her throat.

Austria responds by lowering her backwards onto the grass, keeping control of the kiss as though he can sense her impatience and is _ignoring_ it. His hands on her waist feel featherlight but heavy at the same time, and as she wraps her arms around his neck, one of them drifts down to rub at her thigh. Still he kisses delicately, but when she starts to breathe faster, his lips begin to migrate down the side of her jaw, coming to rest against the hollow of her throat.

He lingers there a moment, his own breath starting to come fast. “Hungary,” Austria whispers, “I-“

“I said stop talking,” she whispers back, and with a groan he presses his mouth to the delicate skin of her neck. Hungary bites back a whimper, and in response the hand on her thigh drags slowly inward, and upward, turning up the heat that’s building inside her-

There’s the sound of a bell clanging, and hooves. Austria sits up, fixing his glasses which are askew and a little steamed up.  
“The soldiers are back,” he says almost apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck. Is he embarrassed? Hungary allows herself to be pulled to her feet and follows him around to the front of the house.

 

Italy is tiny, smaller than even Holy Rome, and rather cute. He’s also wailing loudly, but that might have something to do with being stuffed in a bag for the duration of the journey. Hungary watches from the sidelines as Mr Austria delivers his speech to the sobbing little country. When he and the soldiers have disappeared though, she approaches and kneels down to speak.  
“Hello Italy. My name is Hungary. I live here too, and it’s really not that bad.” She smiles, and after a moment, Italy stops crying and smiles too.

“Hello Miss Hungary. I like your pretty flower!”

Hungary touches a hand to the carnation behind her ear. Dresses, well-kempt hair with flowers in it, good manners. If that’s what Austria wants of her, then so be it.

And she knows very well now what she wants of him.

 

\---

 Two weeks later, things have all but returned to normal, save for Italy’s frequent bouts of sobbing and Austria’s resultant shouting. On this particular evening, she had found the child running up and down the corridors, afraid of something or other- probably his own shadow, and had carried him to bed and sung him an old Hungarian lullaby until he drifted off. She’d sat for some time by his bed, thinking about the strange circumstances that had thrown them all together into this house- almost like a family. The only one she has ever known.

 

Hungary takes advantage of the peace to clean Austria’s room- the man doesn’t seem to be able to grasp the concept of putting laundry into the woven basket outside and instead leaves it piled in a corner, and then throws a fit when he has no clean shirt. And whilst it’s fun to see him wound up, Hungary needs to keep her hands busy so that her mind isn’t running away all the time.

She’s gathering an armful of crumpled clothing from the floor when a book on the desk catches her eye. A smallish, leather-bound thing, like a diary perhaps, but it’s not his work one- neither is it placed neatly in the pile with the others. It must be something personal.

Guilt crosses her for only a few seconds before Hungary drops her laundry and picks up the book, flicking it open. The pages are covered in Austria’s handwriting, but not as neat as usual. There are also sketches of manuscript, as though he jots down melodies in between sentences.

The thing that catches her eye most though, is the date in the corner of the first page; the date she was brought here, almost three months ago now. Curiosity triumphs over respect for his privacy, and she begins to read.

 

_I do not know what to call the feeling inside me, but it is growing stronger when I am near her, and stronger still when I am not. Separation makes me think about the curve of her neck and the passionate anger that always seems ready to burst out of her fists. Trivial detail that nonetheless fascinates me; this morning, when I grew bored of the Emporer’s prattling, I found myself dwelling on her very smile. I want to make her smile more often- perhaps I should bake bejgli? No, if I remind her of home she will be sad._

_-_

_I have just been to wake her up- and discovered her mumbling my name in her sleep. What am I to make of this? She was not frowning, but it must have been a bad dream- she has nothing but ill to think of me, after all. Must she sleep nude? I have chastised her for this before. And just now, the covers were pushed almost down to her waist, so were it not for her lying on her front I would have seen…_

_Even the memory of her bare back is making my chest feel as though it is alight with flames._

_-_

_Today we are going to kiss, I know it. Either I shall give in to how stunning she looks in that dress, or she will give in to how much she loathes me. To think that I would let her play such a game! But I would, I would let her do anything… other than reclaim her freedom of course, but it is not mine to give back._

_She belongs to me, all of her, but I cannot bring myself to use force. If and when she returns my affections, if and when she gives me her body, shall be because she wants to, not because I order her to. And so, I will continue to wait, and hope, and maintain the façade of following orders without any emotion._

_-_

_She wears a flower in her hair all the time now, ever since that incident in the garden. Mein Gott, what I would give to be the bloom that she plucks between those fingers and winds into those hazelnut curls-_

_What is wrong with me? She is a woman, I have never been interested in a woman!_

_But then, she is so much more than that._

 -

 

There’s a dampening peddle on the piano, one which slots into place and lays cloth over the strings to stop them from ringing so much, but of course he doesn’t use it, even though it’s midnight now. So Austria doesn’t hear her sneak into the room. In fact, so caught up in the music is he that Hungary only breaks his trance when she leans over his shoulders and places her hands on top of his.

His reaction is almost comical really- the yelp that escapes his lips is neither manly nor dignified.

“Shh.” Hungary rests her chin on his shoulder. “It is only me. I wanted to talk while nobody else is around.”

“Oh.” He breathes a sigh of relief before turning round to look at her. Hungary steps back and smiles politely.

She feels a little self-conscious wandering the large house in only his dressing gown, but her lower legs and the barest hint of cleavage are exposed, which is the main thing. Enough to make him curious.

And curious he is. Austria’s eyes roam down and back up again, and he clears his throat and pushes his glasses further up his nose before asking, “What did you wish to speak about?”

Hungary widens her smile. “I want to know what sort of man you are, Austria.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said, I want to know-“ her fingers tug at the ribbon around her waist- “…what sort of man you are.”  
Gone is the blush, gone is the hesitation. She is not some shy maid, she is a strong, proud nation. The borrowed dressing gown slips from her shoulders and lands with a faint thud on the polished wooden floor.

Austria’s jaw falls slack, mouth gaping wide open as his eyes rove her naked body. She stands looking down at him, gauging his reaction; not at all like master and servant. More like hunter and prey, but it is impossible to tell which is which.  
“Hungary.” He wets his lips with the tip of his tongue as he whispers, face a deep shade of scarlet.

She wants to giggle at his expression and the way his hands have balled into fists on his lap, but that would scare him off. Instead, she takes one of those hands in hers, indicating for him to stand.  
“Would you like to touch?” she asks softly. Expecting him to be eager, if shy, but he bites his lip and looks away.

Like he’s going to make an apology, a denial, an excuse.

But the sudden clanging of the bell saves him.

 

 

“Who is it?” Hungary demands of the sentry soldier, fastening the last button of the hastily-borrowed shirt and tucking it into the trousers that she also grabbed from the laundry room.

The soldier seems to cower before her. “France,” he stammers, “coming to seize Italy, and no doubt cause trouble for Mr Austria while he’s at it!”

“Is that so?” She smiles grimly. A housemaid has no weapons, but she will fight with her fists if need be. An ornamental sword on the wall catches Hungary’s eye and she wrests it from its bracket, noting that it’s never been used- so it’s sharp. “By all means, let him _try_.”

And before the gaping soldier can say anything, she is pushing past the door sentries and striding out into the night, eyes narrowed as they sweep the driveway, seeking out the enemy.

“Come out, froggies, come out and play!” she yells. Damn them if they think they can waltz into her home and touch either of her boys. _Hers._ Not simply hers to enjoy, hers to defend.

The men come sneaking out of bushes and underneath the parked-up carriages, as though they’ve been awaiting an opportunity to ambush.  
“Cowards!” Hungary snorts. “Even on enemy territory, you wait for them to make the first move. That’s so French.”

They’re circling her, a dozen of them. As if that’s a problem.

She throws their limp bodies into a pile as each falls, dispatched by her boots and her elbows. The next wave of them mean business though, and after the second-to-last brings her down with him, she finds herself looking up right at the tip of the final man’s sword.

Hungary wipes bloody knuckles on her shirt before smiling at the French soldier.  
“Excuse me,” she says politely, “I believe you’re in my way.”

And she springs to her feet, driving her own sword into his thigh.

“Hungary!”

Panting, she turns to look as she tugs her blade out of the flesh, and sees Austria running out of the house towards her.

“What are you doing?” He yells.

“Protecting you!” Hungary yells back. 

He stops in his tracks, staring at her.  
Not noticing France creeping up behind him, bayonet steadied with both hands.

Hungary charges.

Austria blinks in surprise, before she knocks him out of the way with her elbow as she lunges at France, blade swinging.  
The trespassing nation yells out in either fury or shock, trying to push her away but he’s not strong enough; not as strong as her.  
France manages to punch her square in the lip as he goes down, but Hungary is standing over him with his collar clutched in both fists, and he looks up at her with wide, scared eyes.

“Listen up.” She hisses. “I’m going to let you scarper back home in one piece, but remember: This. House. Is. Protected.” And she spits in his face before shoving him away from her.

“You are a witch!” France stammers as he scrambles to his feet. “There’s no way you can fight off that many men on your own!”

Hungary watches him retreat, yelling some sort of exorcism in his native language, before turning to look at Austria. He’s stark white and staring at her like he’s never seen her before. His lips tremble before a moment before he whispers, “You’re hurt.”

Hungary touches a hand to her mouth, wet with blood. Her hands and knees are scraped too.  
“Nothing I can’t handle.” She says.

Austria stares at her for a few seconds longer, then steps closer, wrapping his arms around her waist and lifting her so their faces are level. He kisses the corner of her mouth, careful of the split, and carries her inside, eyes locked for the entire way- its amazing they don’t trip over anything.

Austria carries her all the way to his room before letting go of her. Hungary stands where he set her and watches him roll up his sleeves and dampen a washcloth in the basin that she herself placed there earlier.

“May I?” He asks.

She nods, and he takes hold of her jaw, gently cleaning away the congealing blood. Then he does the same to her hands, pushing the ruined shirt away from her wrists, wiping carefully in between each finger. Afterwards, still holding one of her hands, he drops the cloth carelessly and takes hold of the other.

“Your question from earlier.” Austria’s eyes meet hers and they are wide, sparkling. His voice is deliberately restrained. “I think that the answer is… the wrong sort of man. The sort that demands you wear dresses and move and speak quietly, but then lets you fight my battles for me.”

“I don’t think you’re wrong.” Hungary glances at the innocent-looking diary on the desk, and then back to his face. “I think you’re just… shy.”

“Not any more.” She realizes that his slender fingers are now easing open the buttons on her shirt. “I shan’t be weak any longer. Even though you make me feel it. You give me strength too.”

The shirt falls open and he slides it down her shoulders, placing his lips against her collarbone.

Hungary closes her eyes and tilts her head back as he kisses her chest, brushing over the top of her breasts. It’s tender, but she can feel her knees weakening as though he’s overpowering her somehow. When his hot mouth closes around one nipple, she lets out an involuntary moan.

Austria seems to take this as encouragement, exhaling heavily into her cleavage before taking her other breast into his mouth, sucking firmly as his fingers start to wander, first to stroke and pinch at her sensitive nipples, then down to rest on her hips. He looks up at her, and his expression throws her even more than the sensation of his hands and mouth; he’s looking at her like he _adores_ her, like it’s a _privilege_ to be sinking to his knees in front of her, taking her trousers down as he goes, and-

_Oh._

“Let me do something.” Austria murmurs. Hands wrap around her knees, encouraging her to stand with her legs further apart, and hot breath tickles the very tops of her inner thighs, followed a moment later by open-mouthed kisses which skim against her pubic hair and send sparks dancing to what’s underneath. Sparks of want, a truly foreign sensation but he knows and he wants it to, because his tongue is now pushing between the curls, running along the insides of her lower lips to lap at that curious sensitive spot she’s never understood the purpose of, but now she knows and her legs tremble as she lets out a high-pitched keen.

Austria adjusts his grip on her legs, holding her steady, and repeats the long, slow lick up her moist slit a few times before sucking the now-throbbing bundle of nerves into his mouth, humming appreciatively as he swipes his tongue in circles over the spot.

She’s wondered what it would feel like to be touched by his body, but this is far, far beyond those shameless daydreams. The physical sensation of his mouth moving eagerly against her _pina_ is enough to have her eyes squeezing shut- and when she opens them to see him gazing intensely, _reverentially_ up, there’s a sharp tugging sensation in her abdomen and suddenly the pleasure is so overwhelming that she hollers out a curse in her forbidden native language and feels her knees buckle.

Austria catches her waist before she falls on top of him. She notices he’s panting slightly, pressing one last kiss against her thigh before standing.  
“A woman’s climax is much more violent,” he muses, gesturing for her to sit on the bed and starting to unbutton his shirt.

Knowing where this is going, and still reeling from pleasure, Hungary grabs his hair to pull him in for a kiss, tasting herself as she falls onto her back with him over her. The kisses are not gentle now, but feverish; her own hands fumble alongside Austria’s to remove his clothing, sweep over new skin. When her fingers brush his exposed erection, Hungary is taken aback by the size and firmness of it, that strange appendage she always thought she was going to grow. But she stops thinking anything at all as her thighs are spread and one of Austria’s fingers pushes up inside her.

“Hungary,” he pants into the crook of her neck, “I want to build an empire with you Hungary. Together. As equals.”

Hungary’s hands go to his hair, hips moving involuntarily against the thrusting digit, and it’s not _enough_ , she needs _more._

“Austria,” she whimpers, tugging at his curl, and feels a second finger curl inside. “I want to be… like that too…”

He drags his teeth over her throat. “One day, I promise…” His other hand grabs himself, ready to push inside her. “I’ll- _ah_ \- give you the whole world… nnghh…”

Their bodies fit together like it was always meant to be; Hungary chokes back a sob at the feeling of being so _full_ , of his weight bearing down on her and his flushed skin against hers. Her hands are grasping at his back, nails digging in, and he’s groaning as he grabs her legs and wraps them around his waist, half-articulated German words she can’t comprehend spilling from his open mouth; but she understands _please_ and answers by crushing him against her with all her might. Austria’s thrusts are losing rhythm, becoming more forceful, and the pain and pleasure roll into one as she feels that knotting sensation deep inside again.  
This time, Hungary calls out his name like a battle-cry, and he responds by calling hers, his ecstasy spilling deep inside her.

 

It’s several minutes before either them breathe slowly enough to speak. Not that anything needs to be said.

“Stay here tonight,” Austria murmurs sleepily.

Hungary’s fingertips brush over his closed eyelids as she removes his steamed-up glasses, folding them carefully and placing them out of reach like he so often forgets to.  
“Of course I’ll stay with you.” She whispers.

And she does.

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I haven't stuck strictly to a timeline. Austria acquires Italy a couple of months after Hungary (but since nations live a long time their "months" could be years for humans."  
> 2) France's attack isn't based on a particular event, but let's face it, it probably happened considering how often he fought Spain for South Italy.  
> 3) I've heavily implied that Austria has had sex with men but that Hungary is his first woman. I headcanon him as bisexual, especially as it's been hinted that he's married other countries including France and Spain before.  
> 3a) I feel like Hungary is mostly straight but very open-minded, and later on, when they can actually have a proper relationship, she will encourage them both to 'experiment'...  
> 4) Bejgli is a Hungarian cake that I picked at random.  
> 5) Pina is Hungarian slang, you can probably guess what for.  
> 6) According to one of Durex's surveys, Austria is the nation that performs the most oral sex... go figure ;)


End file.
